


Starlight

by CousinCecily



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fairy Tale Elements, Friends to Lovers, It was only a matter of time before I wrote a post mountain fix-it fic, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Really Character Death, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Presumed character death, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29358309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinCecily/pseuds/CousinCecily
Summary: “Never look too closely at the stars,” Jaskier’s mother always told him.As Jaskier picks his way down the mountain after his fight with Geralt, he ignores her advice and finds himself in over his head, lost and trying to find his way back home.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 65
Kudos: 532
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my submission for the Geraskier Reverse Bang! It was inspired by [Terry/vorador](https://terrybawful.tumblr.com/)'s _gorgeous_ art. We had a great time working on this, and we're thrilled to share our work with you all!
> 
> Thank you to [DrowningByDegrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees) for betaing & cheerleading. <3

“Never look too closely at the stars,” Jaskier’s mother always told him.

It’s well past dark when Jaskier finally stops to make camp. He’s been picking his way down the mountain alone, forgoing the celebratory company of Yarpen and his crew. Besides, he’s certainly not got anyone _else_ to travel with at the moment.

There’s a secluded spot by a large boulder, which should do well for blocking the wind. He sets down his lute and his pack and gets to work building a fire, steadfastly ignoring the roil of emotions in his chest.

It’s a new moon, and the stars shine bright above the cold mountain air.

Jaskier sits and pokes at the fire. He’s not tired. He doesn’t want to play his lute. Composing at this point would just consist of him writing increasingly inventive curses in his songbook, which, while satisfying, won’t actually help the situation any.

Figuring he can’t put it off any longer, he sighs and thinks back to the mountaintop. To Yennefer. To Geralt. To his own damned traitorous heart. 

He’s tired, is the truth of it. He’s done everything he can for Geralt. Been his friend, his traveling companion. His barker, his healer, his confidant. And while he knows Geralt is angry and doesn’t mean what he said—it’s not the first time Geralt’s tried to push him away, after all—he also knows that this time Geralt _did_ mean it, in some small way. And it hurts. What’s worse, Geralt’s life probably _would_ be easier without him in it. But that doesn’t mean it would be _better_. 

…Though it would be nice if Geralt realized that.

So. Jaskier is tired. He leans back against the boulder.

Falling in love with someone who doesn’t love you back is wonderful to read about in poetry, but far worse in practice. Perhaps if Jaskier weren’t such a poet, he wouldn’t be in this mess? It’s a fruitless line of thinking, anyway. Jaskier knows that no matter what sort of person he was, he would’ve fallen for Geralt in just the same way.

He sighs again, settling a little. It will be fine. He’ll make his way down the mountain. In a few months he’ll run into Geralt, and Geralt will look awkward and scrunch his face and apologize in his own way and Jaskier will forgive him, of course. And they will travel together again. And nothing will change. 

It’s fine. Really.

His eyes close, and he tilts his head back. The wind whistles past, and it almost sounds like singing. It’s haunting, and ethereal, and somehow still so beautiful Jaskier could cry. He might be crying already. 

You know what, he _deserves_ some theatrics tonight. He’s a bard for a reason, and he’s always been better at letting his feelings out than holding them in. 

Yes, tonight he will cry and get angry and embrace the full force of his love for a man who will probably never love him back. And tomorrow he will pick up camp and carry on as he has always done. It’s not the first time someone has pushed him away, and it won’t be the last. Besides, he’s carried his love for Geralt for as long as he’s known him. It’s something he learned to live with long ago, and one blasted mountaintop won’t change that.

Feeling simultaneously settled and ready for a good long cry, Jaskier sinks into his emotions. As the wind picks up, he hears that otherworldly tune again. In a weird way, it really _does_ sound like singing.

Bereft of company, he begins to hum along. Part of him is aware the wind doesn’t normally sing like this, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. It feels good to join in a song, to connect, even in this small strange way. 

The song gets louder and music surrounds him—a thousand layered voices, all singing in harmony. Jaskier’s eyes blink open. The song, he quickly realizes, isn’t part of the wind at all. It’s coming from _above_. 

Slowly, painstakingly slowly, he looks up, past the craggy top of the boulder. The night sky looks—as far as Jaskier’s aware—much like always does, stars twinkling in an inky night.

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes, and he sways. This is the longest he’s looked directly at the stars in he doesn’t know how long.

The singing is even louder now. An ethereal chorus, sweet and sad, with layers so complex he finds himself swept up in it. He feels his mother’s warning prick at the edges of his awareness, but he brushes it aside.

It’s just so _beautiful_. It’s like the singing is for him and him alone—a song to match his sorrow. Without thinking about it, Jaskier joins the chorus, his voice another layer in their infinite song. Soft, silent tears drip down his cheeks. The stars are all he can see, the vast night overtaking his vision. As he sings, he feels his awareness of the world thin, and stretch. He feels warm despite the cold night, and as he blinks tears out of his eyes, everything is bright and covered in blueish haze.

Jaskier’s heart pounds, and as the song rises to a crescendo, everything vanishes in a wave of burning light.

***

Jaskier’s not sure when his mother started calling him Starlight. 

His earliest memories of her have faded with time, but he always remembers her eyes. Most of the time they’re distant—as a child, Jaskier often wonders what she’s staring at, and why it makes her so sad.

But her expression changes when she holds him. It’s like she blooms, color returning to her cheeks. She smiles and calls him Starlight, and holds him close. 

As the years go on, it becomes harder to get her attention, even for him. He starts doing wild things to get it, or to keep it, but slowly even that doesn’t work. 

His father, when he is home, rarely pays him any attention at all.

***

Everything pulses.

Jaskier feels dizzy, awareness surfacing through his nausea. He can still hear the singing, he realizes, echoing all around him. The more he tries to focus on it, the more he feels himself drift. 

Darkness engulfs him, and he passes out.

***

The first time Jaskier’s mother warns him about the night sky, he’s around three years old. 

She’s in the drawing room by the great bay windows, staring out into the night. She has a shadow of awareness to her eyes, even though she’s not even noticed Jaskier. Curious, he tries to see what she’s looking at.

As soon as his mother notices his presence next to her, she flies into a wordless panic. In an instant, she scoops him up, covers his eyes, and carries him away from the window. He’s confused and a little scared, and when he asks her what’s wrong she grabs his shoulders, making him _promise_ never to look at the stars. He promises, not even sure what stars _are_ but too afraid to ask.

Finally noticing his fear, she deflates, and immediately apologizes. She comforts him, and brings him to bed. As she’s tucking him in, she explains softly that the night sky is full of stars, these little twinkling lights. They’re beautiful, but dangerous if you look at them too long. 

Solemn, Jaskier asks why she was looking at the stars if it’s dangerous. She sighs, and says nothing for a while. Finally, she tells him that she’s safe, that someone’s watching out for her, and that she’s trying to find them. Jaskier is still confused, and wants to ask more questions, but she shushes him and kisses him goodnight.

Jaskier’s so busy enjoying the rare treat of a goodnight kiss that he almost misses her faint, “You have your father’s eyes, Starlight.”

***

Something is very wrong.

There’s a sinking sort of fuzziness clinging to his senses. Jaskier struggles to wake up, but a thick fog clings to him, holding him under. He can hear Geralt calling his name.

He passes out again.

***

Jaskier is six when he realizes other people can look at the stars. 

He’s talking to the farrier’s son when he figures it out. Soon he starts asking other people, and the more people he asks, the more he realizes he’s the only one who isn’t allowed.

Why would his mother be so serious if it weren’t true? He knows his mother isn’t… like other mothers. But she loves him, and he doesn’t know why she would lie.

That night, driven by curiosity, he tugs open his bedroom curtains and opens the window. The sky beyond is dark and clear and absolutely full of twinkling lights, just like his mother said. It’s not nearly as scary as he was expecting, and, feeling brave, he leans on the sill and looks out. As he stares, he hears something faint, almost like music. He strains to hear and slowly, gently, the world narrows. He feels like he’s falling. The music keeps getting louder, and soon it’s too much, he’s overwhelmed.

Frightened, he falls backward, pulling the curtains shut. He doesn’t look up again for a long time. 

***

Jaskier drifts into consciousness.

He’s queasy, and his limbs feel too heavy to move, but his head’s a little clearer than before. As he strains, he realizes he’s still looking at the night sky.

With a slowly growing panic, he tries to turn, to look away, but the world lurches and he loses himself again.

***

At Oxenfurt, Jaskier learns there are whole groups of people dedicated to studying the stars. Astronomers, they’re called. 

He visits their department often over the years, but only during the day. Every offer to join them—to stargaze through their mysterious and fascinating telescopes—he refuses. But he _does_ talk to them, and he definitely borrows their books. 

There are books of science, divination, and best of all: constellations. Each one has a story, Jaskier learns, and he devotes hours to memorizing them. He’ll take what bits of the stars he can, even if only in book form.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing in any of the books about people who _can’t_ look at the stars. But it’s no matter—by now, Jaskier’s well-practiced at keeping them to his peripheral vision. It’s so deeply ingrained he barely notices anymore.

So, he carries on.

***

He’s awake again.

The singing and the endless night sky surround him still. He forces his brain to work, to remember what happened. He was descending the Dragon Mountains—

As he thinks this, his vision blurs and snaps into place, and suddenly he’s looking at a rocky cliffside dotted with scrubby trees. He’s looking at it from above, which is… odd. It’s night, and while he can’t seem to feel anything, the vertigo of looking down from this height is disorienting. Is he dreaming? Drugged? Surely he isn’t _dead_.

The land below him clarifies, and he realizes with a start that it’s his campsite. It’s been disturbed. The fire’s been put out, and his things—his _lute_ —are gone. And there’s a suspiciously large burn streaked across on the rock he was leaning on. 

Maybe… maybe he really is dead?

Faint dawn light breaks across the campsite, and though he fights it, he feels his consciousness fading again. 

He can still hear the singing, he realizes as he drifts. He thinks he might be singing along.

***

It’s been a month or so since Jaskier started tagging along after Geralt, and they’re slowly settling into a routine. They’ve made camp for the night, and as Jaskier strums his lute, he catches Geralt gazing upward, eyes softer than he’s ever seen.

Jaskier can’t help himself. “Do you often look at the stars?”

Geralt looks away, grumbling, “Useful for navigation.” 

Were it not for the dim light of the campfire, Jaskier could’ve sworn he saw him blush. 

***

Jaskier comes to more quickly this time. He’s a mixture of relieved and afraid, if he’s honest. 

The campsite sits below him, and it’s still night. Cautious, he looks again at the burn on the rock. It really is directly where he was sitting, which probably doesn’t bode well. 

Geralt would know what to do, he thinks, but he startles when he realizes he’s much closer to the rock than he was before. Except—except he isn’t. The rock seems close enough to touch, and yet he’s simultaneously certain he’s nowhere near it. He’s still high above it. The dissonance tugs at his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. Frantic, he pulls away and the whole of the campsite rocks back into view. 

Reeling and woozy, he thinks absently that this isn’t what he expected from death. It’s much warmer than he thought it would be, for one thing. He’s _hoping_ that’s not what this is—but everything feels wrong in a way he’s having trouble comprehending. 

With no small amount of trepidation, Jaskier tries to move his hands, then his arms, but nothing happens. He’s not certain he can even feel them at all. In a slowly growing panic, he tries to turn his head. At the edge of his vision, the night bends and stretches, both infinitely large and infinitely small and as he turns he is enveloped, and everything is so _loud_ and all he can hear is singing and when he tries to turn back he can see the whole damn _mountain_ and all of Caingorn below it, and as he looks, he can see the rest of the Continent and the oceans too and his voice is hoarse from screaming and everything goes dark again.

***

He’s twenty-seven when his father dies. He inherits the title of Viscount of Lettenhove with little fanfare, quickly leaving the majority of his duties to the steward. He doesn’t intend to stay home for long.

After the funeral, he finds his mother sitting in the drawing room. She’s dressed for mourning but her expression remains unchanged as ever, albeit lined with age.

He sighs. They haven’t spoken in years. Still, he walks up to her, intending to pay his respects before he leaves.

For a brief moment her face lights up, but the smile quickly fades. “Seren?”

Jaskier sighs. 

“No mother,” he says. “It’s Julian, your son.”

“Julian…?” She looks up at him again, confusion giving way to a bittersweet sort of happiness. “Julian. I’m glad you’re here.”

Jaskier’s heart clenches. “Thank you, mother. I came to offer my condolences for father.”

But she shakes her head, saying, “The Viscount wasn’t your father.”

Jaskier had suspected as much, but he’s still surprised to hear her confirm it.

Her hand darts forward to clutch his, and a strange kind of passion overtakes her. It reminds him of being a child, and her strange and mysterious warnings. He hasn’t thought about them in years. Excitedly, she whispers, “I’m looking for him.”

Taken aback, Jaskier asks, “Who? My father?”

“It was an accident, it must’ve been. He never meant to leave. He _can’t_ have meant to leave.” Her eyes have taken on a tragic sort of desperation, and part of him wishes he’d never come home. 

Jaskier pulls back gently, and she turns to the window again, looking out. “He never meant to go,” she whispers, eyes fading into the middle distance, trapped again in their shroud of sorrow. 

***

Jaskier wakes up, and wonders. 

Gradually, he steps into awareness of himself. This time, he is careful. He doesn’t look down, he doesn’t even think of the Continent. Instead, he closes his eyes and tries to _feel_.

He’s warm. Very warm, when he thinks about it. There’s a blue light surrounding him, and absently he thinks he might be burning. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s surrounded by distant stars. 

So… he’s a star?

He floats, weightless in the night sky, and realizes he has a pretty good idea where his father went, all things considered. 

This also provides a good explanation for the burn marks, though not for why he’s up here in the first place. 

As he stretches his senses, he realizes he can still hear the singing. In fact, he’s quite certain it’s never stopped. The more he listens, the more he realizes he’s singing too. Huh.

It’s like he automatically harmonizes with the stars around him—he doesn’t even have to think about it. As he concentrates, he finds he can control it, continuing or creating his own song. 

Well, if nothing else, at least he still has music.

Self-despair won’t help him now—it’s time he tests the limits of what he can do. 

As he experiments, he finds he can see anywhere on the Continent, but only at night. To his surprise, clouds don’t completely restrict his view, only dull it a little. He can focus in as close as he wants too, even peering partway through windows and focusing so close he can watch insects crawling across leaves.

His gaze returns to the campsite, with its now familiar burn mark. As interesting as this star business is, he’d really rather be back on land. But is it even possible? 

There’s nothing for it but trying. He tries to move, which is an odd experience when he can’t really feel his body. But no matter how much he struggles, nothing seems to change. With one final push, he feels the edges of his form, and the weight of himself. He strains further, but as he does a deep dread wells up within him. It feels terrible, like something truly awful will happen if he breaks free. Like he really _will_ die.

Jaskier stops, and floats, and tries to hold himself together.

You know, when he said he wanted to be a star, this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. 

He thinks of Geralt. He aches. 

***

Jaskier’s spending the summer with the Countess, another of their on-again off-again trysts. She wants to have a midnight picnic—insists, even. And eventually Jaskier obliges. 

They lay back on blankets, as she wants to look at the stars. Jaskier looks at her instead. He tells her she’s lovelier than all the stars in the sky, and he’d much rather look at her. She blushes, and he kisses it away.

***

The next night, he finds Geralt.

Geralt’s set up camp with Roach not far from the mountain, and the relief Jaskier feels when he finds him is only matched by the absolute _riot_ of other emotions. He’s not sure how much time has passed since the mountain, but to him it feels like yesterday.

His eyes dart around the campsite, and he freezes when he notices his lute nestled next to Roach’s saddlebags. 

_Oh Geralt._

He tries to speak, to say something, but his voice floats away like a distant wind. 

_Geralt! Geralt, can you hear me?_

Geralt continues setting up camp, and no matter how much Jaskier shouts, Geralt doesn’t respond.

He despairs.

***

Almost twenty years into their travels, Jaskier asks Geralt if he knows whether the stars sing. He’s not sure what makes him do it, only that he suddenly needs to know. 

The look Geralt gives him, paired with the wry, “Do you believe _everything_ you read, bard?” tells him more than enough. 

He’s surprised by how much it hurts—it really shouldn’t, considering they tease each other like this all the time—and it’s not like Geralt _knows_. He’s never told him. The whole thing is ridiculous really, and he never should have brought it up. 

As Jaskier tucks away his disappointment, Geralt’s gaze shifts into one of confusion. Before he can ask any more questions, Jaskier quickly launches into a diatribe about the latest fashions in Beauclair, and before long Geralt rolls his eyes and lets it go.

***

He follows Geralt, for lack of much else to do. He hasn’t found any _other_ ways of getting himself out of this situation, and mountaintop argument or not, Geralt is his best bet. He just has to find a way to give him a sign.

On top of that, it’s rather lonely being a star. And for all that Geralt can be an emotional brick wall, Jaskier still loves and misses him. So he follows him.

Naturally, Geralt moves camp during the day, but he’s surprisingly easy to find once night falls. For one, he hasn’t really left the mountain area. For two, if Jaskier spends enough time focusing on him, he can almost sense where Geralt is. 

Geralt… Geralt doesn’t look _great_ , if he’s honest. Probably to be expected considering how things ended on the mountain, but— Jaskier still hates seeing him suffer. 

There’s obviously not much he can do in his position, but it still feels like he’s protecting Geralt, somehow. He keeps watch over the campsite and sings him lullabies when he has a fitful sleep.

Sometimes, when he sings to Geralt, it’s almost like Geralt can hear him.

***

They’re on their way to the Dragon Mountains, and Jaskier’s almost finished with his newest song: “The Stars Along the Path.” It’s about Geralt of course, and it’s got the undercurrent of a love song—not that Geralt’s likely to notice. Still, he’s proud of it, and he’s been singing and strumming it almost nonstop the past few weeks of travel. He’s thinking of debuting it tonight, but then Yennefer walks into the tavern looking gorgeous as ever.

Perhaps the song is best saved for another time.

***

As dusk fades into evening, Jaskier finds Geralt at his newest campsite, talking to Roach.

It’s always warmed his heart, the way he treats her and confides in her when he thinks no one is looking.

Jaskier plans to leave them to it, to check the surrounding area for monsters, when he overhears his name. Geralt, Jaskier realizes with a start, is talking about _him_. 

He can’t help himself, he focuses and it’s like he’s there, hovering over the two of them. Geralt presses his face into her neck, and strokes her side gently, and the muffled words he hears coming out of Geralt’s mouth are, “I failed him.” 

Jaskier’s breath catches.

“He’s gone, he could be dead, and no matter what I do I can’t _find_ him.” Geralt sounds—there’s no other word for it—he sounds devastated. And on top of that—Geralt’s been looking for him? All this time? Is _that_ why he’s still lingering at the base of the mountains?

“The last thing I said to him was… it was terrible, and now I can never take it back. Can never tell him that I love—” Geralt stops and takes a few deep breaths. “I left him alone on that mountain. Knowing the dangers.” His voice, even quieter, breaks, “I think I killed him, Roach.”

There is _nothing_ Jaskier wants more than to be there with him. He feels it with a passion that burns as bright as the stars.

_I’m right here, darling. By your side._

Even if he can never find a way to communicate with Geralt, even if he forever remains a star, Jaskier knows with a bone-deep certainty he will follow him until the end of his days.

***

The wind whips past him as he sits on the mountaintop alone, strumming his lute.

Geralt didn’t outright reject his offer to go to the coast, but he did leave, presumably to join Yennefer, so. The offer wasn’t exactly accepted in the way he meant it, is all he’s saying. 

So he sits, and plays, and decides his new song can debut to the mountains instead. To the earth, and the sky, and everything around him. They might appreciate it more, anyhow.

***

It takes longer for Jaskier to find Geralt the following night. When he does, he’s not greeted with the quiet campsite he’s come to expect. No, Geralt’s in the middle of a battle, and he’s losing.

Panicked, Jaskier looks around the scene for context. Swaths of the landscape have been scorched, and Geralt stands in a burning field, bleeding sluggishly, his sword at the ready. In the center of the field lies a mage’s tower, and at the top is a _very_ angry sorcerer. 

The sorcerer shouts, arms outstretched, and fire rains down as spikes burst forth from the earth. Geralt has clearly been fighting for a while. His movements are sluggish, and he narrowly avoids the spikes in time.

Filled with dread, Jaskier watches as the mage starts a deep chant, slowly building an enormous ball of energy at the top of the tower. Geralt is distracted, finding his footing as spikes continue to overtake his path. The problem is, even once Geralt notices, there’s little he’ll be able to do from this distance. This is very very bad, and Jaskier shouts, trying to get his attention, but of course no one can hear.

In an effort to dodge more spikes, Geralt gets tangled in a nest of living vines—a trap. He’s finally noticed the ball of magical energy, and though he’s hacking at the vines he’s not going to be fast enough. He’s stuck in place and he’s bleeding and he’s _dying_ , and damn it all Jaskier can’t fucking take it any more. He won’t watch Geralt die. With a heaving shout, he wrenches himself out of the sky, throwing himself at the mage. This will probably kill him but he doesn’t care. He’s screaming and burning and falling and _everything_ hurts. 

He hurtles toward the mage’s tower, punching through it in a giant burning streak of blue. Darkness overtakes him.

***

Jaskier wakes, and opens his eyes. He sees the stars. But—

The singing has gone quiet. It’s barely detectable.

He blinks, and Geralt is above him, holding him, eyes frantic. Jaskier sucks in a breath. He can _feel_ him. There’s ground beneath him, and air in his lungs, and Geralt is holding him in his arms and saying his name and Jaskier is _alive_. 

Around him, he sees the edges of a crater. One he’s rather sure he’s at the center of. 

But Geralt is touching his face, and asking if he’s okay, and instead of speaking Jaskier reaches a hand up to cradle Geralt’s cheek. He’s faintly aware his hand is glowing, but he can’t look away from Geralt’s eyes.

“Geralt,” he says, feeling the shape of the word in his mouth. There’s a breeze caressing his skin. “ _Geralt_.”

“Jaskier? What happened? I was fighting a mage and then—”

“I was a star.” It feels like such a small sentence to encompass all that he was, and yet. He smiles, “I watched over you.”

Geralt looks confused, but explanations can come later. This is far more important. With a contented sigh, Jaskier pulls Geralt close, pressing their foreheads together. 

Geralt breathes, voice filled with wonder, “That was you, wasn’t it? The singing. I heard you.”

“I thought you’d be lonely without me,” he teases.

Geralt pulls back, eyes serious. “It was too quiet without you. I—” Geralt sucks in a breath. “I’m so sorry Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiles. “I know. I heard you talking to Roach.”

Geralt’s eyes widen, and while Jaskier _definitely_ plans to get the full apology out of him later, for now he has better things to do.

“Speaking of—“ He darts forward, kissing the tip of Geralt’s nose before pulling back. “—I love you too, you idiot.”

Geralt huffs out a surprised laugh, and pulls Jaskier in for a kiss.

Jaskier shines.


End file.
